


somebody call me right one

by alemantele (falcine)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: College, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oikawa Tooru's Knee Injury, Post-Graduation, and then also some kissing, this is mostly talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 02:32:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15524145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falcine/pseuds/alemantele
Summary: Of all the people Sugawara Koushi expects to run into again on a midnight coffee run in the middle of finals, Oikawa Tooru is the last on his list.





	somebody call me right one

**Author's Note:**

> this is my favourite haikyuu ship and i can't believe its taken me this long to write something for it

After smashing his thumb into the button hard enough to nearly crack the plastic for the fifth time to no avail, Suga is about ready to commit instant-coffee-machine-homicide. In fact, he’s half contemplating pitching the whole thing on its side and marching out of the convenience store in defiant protest, when he’s rudely interrupted by a loud voice. Honestly, it sounds kind of familiar, and Suga’s got a nagging feeling he should maybe be embarrassed he doesn’t immediately recognize who’s trying to get his attention, but he’s mostly operating on coffee fumes and half a box of raspberries at this point. So he spends half a minute standing quietly and trying to match a face to the voice, but then he realizes the person’s still talking, so it might be polite to actually tune in to the words instead of trying to analyze where he’s heard the dips and swoops of the bright but smooth voice before. Rubbing his tired eyes, Suga cocks his head to the side to listen. 

“...I have this theory that all setters are required to have really hot hands, ‘cause good setting’s all in the fingertips, you know? A lot of fine motor control, if you catch my drift—like, for example, I used to jerk off thinking about your hands in high school—”

Suga turns, blinks. 

“Oh, shit,” Oikawa Tooru says, even though he’s still grinning, “so you haven’t gone deaf after all.” 

_ It’s too fucking early for this,  _ is what Suga thinks, even though he’s honestly not quite sure what time it  _ is.  _ But seeing Oikawa in the flesh somehow triggers the part of his brain that’s still stuck in high school and has energy to banter with old schoolmates, so he plasters a wry grin on his face and deadpans, “No, but I kind of wish I was right about now.” 

Oikawa shrugs. “I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean anyways.” 

Suga files that particular piece of information quietly under Deal With Later and takes a step away from the cursed coffee machine. “What are you doing here, Oikawa-san?” he asks. Somewhat bluntly, admittedly, but that doesn’t seem to phase Oikawa at all, whose grin only widens.

“Hm, I don’t remember you being this rude. Or vacant, for that matter. Have you slept?” 

“In the past twenty-four hours? No.” 

“That’s fair,” Oikawa says. “Why else would you be here at nearly 2AM trying to buy this shit?” 

“The shit isn’t cooperating,” Suga mutters. 

Oikawa apparently hasn’t changed in the slightest since they were all a bunch of kids, because he leans in next to the coffee machine, thumps it in the side a couple times over Suga’s tired protests, and of course when  _ he  _ jabs his thumb into the button the damn thing splutters to life and spurts a disgusting but cheap americano into the cup waiting below. 

“You’re welcome,” Oikawa chirps. 

Suga yanks the coffee back so quickly it nearly sloshes over and burns. He scowls and aims an accusatory finger. “That was blatant favouritism.”

“You’re talking about the inanimate machine?”

“Yes,” Suga hisses. He grabs three packs of sugar to dump unceremoniously in his shitty coffee then shoves a lid on and starts digging in his back pocket for cash. “Honestly it figures that even a coffee machine of all things would fall for you charms.” 

And Oikawa is blatantly snickering now, ambling along beside him as he stalks to the front to pay. Part of him genuinely wonders what the hell Oikawa Tooru is doing here, at the convenience store half a block away from his flat, instead of at his fancy volleyball scholarship university or whatever, but most of him is just tired. He drops a few coins on the counter and tries not to think too hard about how he has the exact change all ready and prepared and all, that’s how many times he’s bought this same old sludge. 

All the while, Oikawa trails behind.

Suga tamps down the urge to say something biting, and they both shuffle out of the store and onto the street. It’s cold today, the air nipping at his nose, and Suga takes in a deep, hopefully cleansing breath through his nose to clear his chest.

He downs the coffee in two gulps. 

Beside him, Oikawa whistles. 

After a moment, the caffeine buzz has settled under his skin—not quite comfortably, but with enough of a prickle that Suga doesn’t feel like he’s been wrapped twice over in numbing cotton anymore. There’s also the added bonus that it makes his brain feel less like it’s been churning in a blender, so he feels less inclined to insult Oikawa’s mother for daring to say hi to him after two years of not seeing each other or something. 

He sucks in another lungful of blissful fresh air, then turns. 

“Sorry,” he says, mustering up a small but sincere smile, “I’m kind of in the middle of finals.” 

“Ah,” Oikawa says, nodding in the understanding only a fellow student could share. “I kind of figured. You, uh, you know you’re wearing your pajamas, right?” 

Suga looks down blankly. “Well,” he comments, “now I do.” Inexplicably, his face starts heating up. 

Neither of them say anything for an agonizing long moment. 

“They’re cute?” Oikawa offers.

Suga drops the now empty coffee cup in a trashcan and briefly contemplates dumping himself in alongside. “That doesn’t really make me feel better, but thank you for trying.” He scrubs the heel of his palm over his eyes again. “Not that I’m not glad to see you,” he starts, “but why are you here, Oikawa-san?”

“Oh,” Oikawa says. The lines around his eyes seem tight. “I transferred.” 

The terseness in his voice gives Suga pause. 

It’s not like he knows Oikawa that well at all, really, but there’s a careful aura of control around the smile he still has pasted on his face that clues Suga into the fact that it’s probably forced. Too perfect, too symmetrical. But then again, all of that always applied to Oikawa himself anyways. 

Still, Suga didn’t earn himself the reputation of ‘mom friend’ in three separate friend groups for nothing; he knows a sore subject when he sees one. 

So he returns the fake smile with a cheerier one of his own. “Then we have to catch up again some time!” he says, smacking Oikawa in the shoulder. “We can finally have a conversation without a giant school sports rivalry getting in the way.” 

Oikawa laughs. He ducks his head and runs a hand through his hair and when he looks up back he seems happier, for real. “There’s the Mr. Refreshing I know again.” 

“So I’m human,” Suga says with a shrug, “sue me.” 

“Hmm, I think I like it. Makes you more real.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

“I dunno. Back when we were—” Oikawa waves his hand in a way that really doesn’t make any sense— “You seemed like you had your life together, plus everyone liked you, so I just thought you were some robot programmed to dispense nice things to say at the drop of a hat or something.” 

That makes—well it makes a startling amount of sense, if Suga were to be honest with himself. “I was a people-pleaser in high school,” he quips, not willing to admit how hard he’d worked to maintain the nice guy outlook. And it’s not like Suga’s secretly an asshole. He’s long since come to terms that he’s a bit of a pushover, really. It’s just like what he said; he’s still human. 

“And now you’re not?” 

“Now I’m the kind of person who just might snap at a guy for interrupting his pathetic middle of the night coffee run, old friend or not.” 

“Ah, so you admit we were friends then.” 

Suga looks up, and Oikawa’s sort of leaning into his space with a casual aloofness, his brows raised as if in triumph, but there’s real sincerity in his voice. Or at least what sounds like it. 

“We did all get drunk at the joint graduation party that one time,” Suga says, “I think if we weren’t already, we would’ve been officially friends by the time we climbed up on a table and sang kumbaya together. Also I think you might’ve cried on me.” 

Oikawa bursts out laughing. He actually does pitch forward with the sheer force of it, which means his head lands square on Suga’s shoulder as he continues to snicker. Suga flushes. Again. Inexplicably. 

“Oikawa-san,” he mutters, trying to pry him off of his shoulder, or at the very least shift his head so Oikawa’s hair isn’t tickling his neck (and, surely it’s illegal for hair to be so soft, right? What the hell conditioner does this guy use?). 

“Okay, okay,” Oikawa says. His arm flails and eventually lands on Suga’s shoulder, which he uses as leverage to push himself back up. 

Once he’s straightened, Suga realizes that they’re standing together on the side of the street, uncomfortably close, Oikawa’s hand still heavy on his shoulder. 

Oikawa blinks. His grip tightens. Suga fights the sudden urge to look away.

“Do you maybe want to take a walk with me?” Oikawa blurts. 

“Uhm,” Suga says.

“It’s just…,” Oikawa trails off, biting his lower lip in a way that certainly isn’t catching Suga’s attention in the slightest. He takes in a deep breath, then seems to steel himself for something. “It’s been kind of a rough move, and I didn’t expect to see a friendly face, so sorry if I got kind of weird back there, but I really wanted to say hi. And I’m kind of out here because I couldn’t sleep, so…” 

Of all the things Suga knows Oikawa Tooru to be, sheepish isn’t one of them. So seeing him with this awkward grimace and half-hunched shoulders makes all his instincts scream alarm bells at him. It’s kind of sad, really, but it makes Suga want to wrap him up in a blanket and quote dumb inspirational lines at him, which is the last thing anyone should want to do for Oikawa Tooru. 

He settles for next best. “Sure,” he says breezily. “I wasn’t going to finish that lab report tonight anyways.”

Somehow, the lost sleep feels worth it with the way Oikawa instantly brightens, a dumb smirk that says ‘you’ll regret ever agreeing to this’ tugging his lip up as they head out. 

 

* * *

 

It’s too dark to go very far, so they end up meandering down to the riverside. 

It’s one of the reasons he chose this place, honestly, the river. Something calming about living near running water. Suga likes to take walks down here on his own time, but usually not at odd hours of the morning, and usually not with Oikawa Tooru. 

They amble side by side, and if they occasionally bump shoulders it’s because they’re both sleep deprived and Suga’s maybe just slightly dizzy with it. Nothing else. Oikawa chatters about his latest conspiracy theory about how the government is hiding knowledge of an alien invasion from them, and Suga hums in all the right places.

The moon comes out at some point from behind some heavy clouds, and Oikawa stops to stare at it for a second, his mouth parted and eyebrows furrowed just a bit, and Suga wonders why they didn’t talk more in high school. 

“Nice, isn’t it?” Suga asks quietly, stepping up behind Oikawa to stand on the ledge. Instead of looking up at the moon, he looks at the water below, the shimmering reflection. “I like to come out here when I’m tired of the library. Helps with some perspective.” 

“Wise man,” Oikawa says. 

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Wiser than me, at least. I used to pull all-nighters watching videos of old plays to make sure we wouldn’t make the same mistakes.” 

“Sound unhealthy.” 

“Yeah, well. I’m not doing that anymore.” 

“I find it surprising that you even still make mistakes anymore, to be honest.” 

At that, Oikawa tenses all over again.

_ Dammit,  _ Suga thinks,  _ I’ve lost my touch.  _

There’s something eating away at the edges of Oikawa, and even in the dark of this night, even if they haven’t seen each other in so long and nevermind that they’ve never quite been friends—Suga can see it. It’s in the tension in his shoulders, the way he keeps jerking his chin up like he has to remind himself to hold himself straight, the way his eyes keep flickering from side to side. Oikawa wears his old confidence like a costume that doesn’t fit anymore. 

“Hey,” Suga says, taking a step closer. He settles his hand next to the railing, close enough to Oikawa’s forearm that it would be easy to nudge his fingers forward and close the gap.  _ You okay?  _ doesn’t seem like enough. He settles for a quiet, hopefully lowkey questioning glance instead, readies himself to say goodbye in case Oikawa ghosts. 

For a second, he looks like he’s going to, all pale face and rumpled hair and Suga notices the dark bags under his eyes for the first time. He looks otherworldly, under the cold moonlight. He looks like he’s two steps away from collapsing, actually, but, still, the pale wash of light cuts through the planes of his face, makes his lashes darker and fuller, makes his gaze somehow too intense. 

“This was supposed to be a pity walk, you know,” Oikawa finally mutters. “I said I stopped watching those videos but I still couldn’t sleep, and I just got in like a week ago and there’re still boxes piled up in my room because I couldn’t be bothered to unpack so I just—I needed to—” He scrapes aggressively at the nape of his neck, makes his hair stand up even more, then gestures helplessly to the night air. 

“Get out, right?” Suga asks. 

“Yeah. Get out. Didn’t expect to run into you or anything.” 

“Should I be offended?”

At that Oikawa huffs out a laugh. “Didn’t mean anything by it. It was just...unexpected. You’re always unexpected.”

“Always?” Suga blurts. 

Oikawa blinks, but he doesn’t seem deterred. “Yeah,” he says. “You were always the one who shook things up. Every time you got on the court, I remember thinking,  _ well now we’re fucked.  _ I never figured out how to get around you.” 

“That’s because I never played for long enough for you to figure me out.”

“Mm,” Oikawa agrees, “Karasuno’s secret weapon.”

“No one has ever called me a secret weapon before in my life,” Suga says matter of factly, but he can’t repress the slow, syrupy warmth that spreads a bit in his chest at that. 

“Well, maybe they should. I think you’re kind of deadly, actually.” 

“...Excuse me?” 

If it weren’t so strange and washed out tonight, Suga never would’ve noticed, but there’s a distinct pink flush painting Oikawa’s cheeks now, and he’s not quite sure what to do with that information. 

“You’re too nice,” Oikawa says, looking down at his hands. “I don’t know what to do with nice.” 

“I snapped at you because you had the audacity to fix the coffee machine for me.” 

“You agreed to accompany me on my pity walk in the middle of finals and it’s literally 3AM.”

Suga doesn’t have anything to say to that. The river sloshes up gently on the shore beneath them. Oikawa’s hands are both on the railing now, inches away from his. The tips of Oikawa’s hair are laced with silver in the moonlight. Suga tries not to stare, wets his lips, and realizes he’s a bit fucked.

“If you tell me you’d do that for any stranger you met on the street, I’ll be hurt,” Oikawa informs him.

See, maybe the best thing to do would’ve been to snark,  _ No, I usually take the strangers out to dinner,  _ but this night chill and the strange static buzz of sincerity between them draws something sweeter and truer out of his lips instead. “You’re not a stranger,” Suga says. And then, “You’re just lucky I like you a lot.”

Oikawa blinks. “Do you?” 

“Yeah,” Suga says. “I’ve just decided now.”

They're both quiet for a while. Hard to find things to say, in this brittle silence. Suga tries to find the words for how he feels, right now, but all he can summon up is an embarrassing amount of  _longing,_ dragging between him and Oikawa, careful and—his mind supplies a few choice words: tender, sublime, makes the moment feel like it will last forever. Suga tries to stop his face from burning and wonders if it's possible to murder your own brain. 

But then Oikawa drop his forehead down on the railing before Suga can say anything at all, and sighs, and says, " I got hurt.”

He drops the words like stone sinking under the surface of water between them, and suddenly everything makes sense. 

Actually, Suga’s a bit certain he’s an idiot for not figuring it out earlier. What else would make the great Oikawa Tooru stop overanalyzing plays in the middle of the night? Whatever else would make him leave that scholarship Suga was dead certain he’d had? 

What would ever make Oikawa leave the court? 

Easy answer: only if he was forced to. 

“Hey,” Suga says again, takes a deep breath, and settles his hand on Oikawa’s wrist.

When Oikawa looks up, he looks, well, vulnerable. His eyes are too round. His mouth is a hard line, lips bloodless. His whole demeanor shifted at some point, and now that Suga has better context, he can read the hard set of his jaw as anger, held stiff and deep and repressed, but there. He wonders what Oikawa is angry at for about two seconds, before he realizes it must be at himself. 

Oikawa shrugs. “ACL,” he says, “as in, the dumbest injury you can get as an athlete, really. Should’ve been more careful.”

Suga snorts. “I’m sure there are dumber injuries, but an ACL tear is just so  _ basic. _ ”

Oikawa laughs and looks startled about it. “You think I should’ve gotten fucked up a more exotic way?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“Well you’re the first person to say that to  _ me _ , so I guess we’re even now?” 

“Let’s go down to the actual riverbank,” Suga says, lit with spontaneous determination. 

 

* * *

 

He runs; Oikawa follows. Suga pretends not to notice the slight limp. 

They race down to the riverbank like teenagers, and Suga piles up a bunch of rocks to toss in the rolling water. 

They take turns finding the biggest rocks so they can compete to see who makes the biggest splash, and by the end of it all Suga’s old ratty pajama pants are kind of soaked, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to have a cold the next day, but they’re both smiling so hard their cheeks are about to split, so he thinks maybe this was worth it. 

When a chilly breeze picks up, they stop trying to douse each other with dirty river water and sit down besides Suga’s pile of rocks. Suga tosses one up and down in his hand, watching the skyline up above them. Out beyond the edges of the city, the sky is starting to lighten, and Suga suppresses a hysterical laugh at how late (early?) it’s gotten. He tilts his head back instead and closes his eyes against the nipping wind, feeling it gently ruffle his hair. 

It’s good he has his eyes closed, because Oikawa chooses this moment to shuffle closer on the riverbank and lean into Suga’s side, and Suga honestly isn’t sure what his expression would look like. He wonders what Oikawa looks like, right now, under the blue-ish end of night sky. Oikawa lets out a small sigh and actually settles his head in the crook of Suga’s neck what the actual fuck. 

“I’m a kinesiology major,” Suga says. In the quiet of the morning, he admits, “I don’t play anymore.” 

“That’s a shame,” Oikawa mumbles, and Suga can feel it right against his skin. He tries not to shiver. 

“I didn’t really have a justification,” Suga says. “I just woke up one day, and realized I didn’t want it. Not in the same way you do.” 

“Did,” Oikawa correct quietly.

Suga shakes his head. “Do,” he insists. “You’ll figure it out. Even if you don’t play professionally. Even if you don’t play. You’ll be a coach, or something. I could step away because I realized that’s not what I wanted, but if you want it I’m absolutely certain you’ll get there. Or you’ll figure out volleyball’s not what you want anymore. That’s okay, too, because you’ll find something else you love enough to channel everything into, because you’re Oikawa Tooru, and that’s what you do. I’m telling you not to give up.” It’s only after all the words have spilled out that he realizes maybe it was a bit forward of him to blurt all of that out on a whim, and also maybe he is coming on a little too strong. 

He’s about to delicately extricate himself from the situation, hope Oikawa decides this entire night was something of a fever dream, and die of embarrassment, when he hears quiet sniffles coming from his neck. Suga freezes, tactfully ignores it, and tries not to stiffen up too much. 

After a while, Oikawa takes a deep breath, then sits up. His eyes are rimmed with red, but he’s smiling, and it’s ridiculous that all Suga can think of is that he looks damn cute in this lighting after all, his hair a shade darker and long shadows scraping over the line of his jaw. 

“Thanks,” he says. “I don’t know why, but I believe you.” 

Suga’s mouth moves before he has time to think. “Because I’m always right,” he chirps, throwing up a peace sign. 

Oikawa laughs, and then he stops and pauses meaningfully, eyes flickering down to Suga’s mouth.

_ Oh,  _ Suga thinks.

“Were you always this cute when we knew each other in high school?” Oikawa asks. His voice is airy, breezy, but there’s… _ something  _ there in the undercurrent.

“Nah, I was a scrawny dork,” Suga quips. “Did you really jerk off to my hands?”

“Would I lie to you about that?”

_ This is ridiculous,  _ Suga thinks. Before his sleep deprived brain and stupid mouth can betray him again, he taps a finger to the side of Oikawa’s cheek as a warning, leans in, and kisses him. 

Oikawa makes a surprised hum against his mouth, but a moment later Suga feels fingers coming at the back of his neck, weaving into the hair there. He’s a little delirious still, and maybe kissing your old high school sports rival after a few hours of hanging out and strange heart-to-hearts by the riverside isn’t the best idea, but then Oikawa shuffles in closer, tilts his head and deepens the kiss, and all Suga can think is that he feels like he’s on fire and he loves it. 

They break apart when a sudden splash of water sprays the both of them. 

Suga looks down at their legs, tangled together, up at Oikawa’s flushed face, then out to the river that looks like it’s getting more turbulent by the second, and bursts out into helpless laughter. After a second, Oikawa joins in, and then they’re falling all over each other, Suga’s head pillowed on Oikawa’s (rather broad) chest, and shaking silently. Suga thinks his gut is about to burst, he’s never laughed so hard in his life.

Oikawa pulls his arms around him in a tight embrace, then presses a light kiss to Suga’s cheek, then closer to the corner of his mouth, then finds his lips again. Suga stifles another laugh, bumps noses with Oikawa, feels like he’s floating and burning and all the numbness has finally been chased away.

There’s a fire in the depths of Oikawa’s eyes when their gazes meet, just like back in high school, and Suga won’t admit it to anyone now, but he’s always been a little bit jealous of that. Still, tonight has taught him that even eternal flames can grow dim, and Oikawa is just as fragile and human as any one of them.

That thought only makes the strange affection spread like ice water in Suga’s chest, shocking in how sudden it all is. 

Instead of saying anything, he leans forward and presses their lips together again, trying to drink in that warmth. 

Eventually, when the sky is brighter and it’s basically just morning, Oikawa pulls back and winces. He puts a hand to his left leg, frowning in distaste. “Not to be a total bummer, but this actually does hurt right now.” 

“Maybe running all the way down here was a bad idea.” 

“Nah,” Oikawa says, grinning crookedly, “I don’t think so.” 

Suga laughs and swats at his shoulder. “You just want me for my hands.” 

“And so what if I do?” 

Suga trails a finger up Oikawa’s forearm. “That can be arranged.” 

Oikawa snorts. “Well unless you want me to faint on you, we should get up, actually.”

“Hmm, my place, then?”

Oikawa gives him a flat stare that’s half incredulous, like he can’t believe if Suga is serious or not. It looks so cute that Suga bursts out laughing all over again. “Sorry, sorry, that was a bad joke,” he says. Carefully, he untangles their legs and stands, then offers a hand down to help Oikawa up, too. “I wasn’t kidding about my place, though. It’s closeby, and also I’m a kinesiology major, remember? I can take a look at that.”

He slings Oikawa’s arm over his shoulder, then they slowly make their way back up to the walkway.

Oikawa shrugs. “I’ll take you up on that, then,” he says.

“Also maybe it’s an excuse to feel you up a little.” 

Oikawa gives him a look. “Are you always like this? I thought you were, like, the innocent and pure type.” 

Tilting his face up, Suga gives Oikawa his best suggestive smirk, eyebrow lift and all. “Hang around me some more and you’ll find out just how wrong that is.”

“Hm, hanging out, I like the sound of that,” Oikawa says, and it’s too sincere to be an innuendo.

Fondness flares in his belly, low and simmering. Suga takes in a breath and faces the morning sun. “Yeah,” he admits, “me too.” 

 

* * *

 

(“So now that your leg is all good, want me to fuck you up in that exotic way?”

“Uhm.” 

“Kidding! I think you should take me on a date first, actually.”

“One second you’re prepositioning me, the next you demand I ask you out? You’re high maintenance as fuck, aren’t you?” 

“Yep.” 

“Alright, then.” 

“Alright what?” 

“Let’s go on that date. And then maybe I’ll let you fuck me up.”)  
  



End file.
